The Sixth Man
by AhstTraotee
Summary: When the legendary band Pentakill runs into an issue regarding the transport of their equipment, auditions begin for the most dangerous job in Valoran: Their roadie. Will they find the perfect candidate in time for the next concert? (Rated T for mild language and use of innuendos)
1. Night of The Concert

**Night of the Concert (and the Morning After)**

_ It was late in the city-state of Bilgewater, but by no means was the city asleep. Pubs and taverns on numerous streets were still bustling with drunken activity, and in the case of Myron's Murderhole, the most famous tavern in Bilgewater, applause. Inside the establishment's blood and vomit-stained walls, a concert was coming to a close._  
><em> "Remember the name and tremble - <em>_**Pentakill!**__" the Master of Metal, Mordekaiser, bellowed. His command echoed throughout the tavern, to the delight of his audience of pirates and rogues, who roared their inebriated approval. "Thank you, and have a good night, Bilgewater!"_

About a half hour later, the members of Pentakill were leaving the Murderhole, not even bothering to get out of costume, and the majority of them wobbling slightly as they departed from the building. Their lead singer, Karthus, who had a certain affection for alcohol, was being supported by the bassist Yorick and drummer Olaf, leaning on their shoulders as the three of them stumbled as one unit. Sona, the only sober bandmember, was carrying her beloved etwahl, walking warily behind the drunken trio. Behind the Maven of Strings was Mordekaiser, trudging along with heavy footsteps as he dragged something behind him by a long, steel handle. Attached to the handle was a big, spiky wagon of Mordekaiser's own design, with the word "Pentakill" crudely painted on the side in broad, jet-black lettering. Inside the wagon were a comically large set of speakers, and the rest of the band's instruments: Karthus's microphone, Olaf's drumset, Yorick's bass, and Mordekaiser's beloved guitar, ''Numero Uno''.  
>The Pentakill Wagon, or simply, 'the Bandwagon', squeaked and creaked behind Mordekaiser as its wheels rolled down Bilgewater's cobblestone streets. Even though there was nary a speck of rust to be found on the wagon, it clearly suffered from age and abuse from the elements. This noble vehicle had carried Pentakill's vital equipment since Mordekaiser first got the band together, for their first concert in the Shadow Isles. This wagon had rolled from Demacia to Noxus, from Piltover to Freljord, from Zaun to Bandle City, and had taken every kind of punishment imaginable: sword strikes, fire, chemical splashes, vile mushrooms, you name it.<br>In short, the Bandwagon was one of the team, nay, one of the _family_. At the same time, however...  
>"I grow weary of dragging this burden!" Mordekaiser grumbled to his bandmembers. "Karthus, where is this blasted hotel you made the reservations for?"<br>"Rezzervacations?" Karthus groaned in a slurred voice. "We going to the beach or something? Wait, _-hic-_... oh. Oh! Right, the hotel or whatever. Um...I was supposed to talk to someone? I figured we'd just walk -_hic_- walk in..."  
>Sona frowned, glaring at Karthus. She was not about to sleep outside <em>again<em> because of him, especially in a less-than-morally-upstanding town like Bilgewater.  
>"I suppose this means we're needing to find a place to crash..." Yorick mumbled, looking around the street, empty except for the band. "Who in the Isles would be open at this time of night, though?"<br>Olaf thoughtfully stroked his beard for a moment, before snapping his fingers as an epiphany struck. "Heh, problem solved. There's someone in town who's ALWAYS open..."

_A few minutes later..._

"He said WHAT about me!?" Miss Sarah Fortune snarled from the other side of the front counter of her personal tavern, appropriately named Fortune's Favor.  
>Yorick and Olaf jumped back from the counter as Miss Fortune pulled a pistol out, waving it towards the Pentakill members. Mordekaiser and Sona were already keeping their distance, staying way out of the current mess and close to the door. It was safer that way.<br>Karthus, however, still in a somewhat muddled state (improving but still drunk), leaned over the counter to play with Miss Fortune's cherry-red hair. "Now, Fortune, sweetie, you know we don't mean that...-_hic_-...I mean, maybe Olaf does, but he's an idiot, let's face it."  
>"Karthus." Mordekaiser warned as Olaf's hands curled into fists.<br>"One sec, Morde, I'm -_hic_- busy. Now as I was saying, since you're such a sweet little la-_hic_-lady, 'scuse me," Karthus continued, twirling a lock of Miss Fortune's hair with a bony finger. "We were thinking you'd be kind enough to give us a place to stay for the night, that's all."  
>"<em>Karthus<em>..." Yorick said with increased urgency as Miss Fortune's pistol came to rest on Karthus's cranium.  
>"Shaddup, I'm making reservations here!" Karthus snapped, before turning back to Miss Fortune. "We know you run a -<em>hic<em>- classy establishment here, and you take _grrrrreaaaat_ pride in keeping your customers happy." Karthus swatted the pistol away from his head, and leaned in to whisper in Miss Fortune's ear. "So maybe I, as an amazing metal star -_hic_-, could get a little room service from you. Whaddya say, honey?"  
>Sona could only cover her face with a hand in despair. The rest of the band followed suit as the sound of Miss Fortune's pistol cracking against Karthus's face echoed through the lobby, and the esteemed bounty hunter dragged the dazed Deathsinger out by his hair, unceremoniously throwing him out into the street.<br>"Here's your personal suite, Karthus, with all the finest in comfort." Miss Fortune smiled in the doorway as Karthus lay passed out in the gutter. "Have a good night." And with that, the pirate hunter slammed the door shut.

"Sorry about that." Yorick sighed as Miss Fortune returned to the counter. "He doesn't speak for all of us."  
>"He better not." Miss Fortune warned. "And we're not finished, Olaf, just so you know. But I'm willing to save it for the Rift. I'm tired, I want to go to bed, but first, I need to know what you metalheads want."<br>"A room for us and our equipment." Mordekaiser explained, pointing behind him where the filled Bandwagon sat.  
>Miss Fortune could only silently stare up at the pile of music and metal, blinking in shock and awe. The stack of instruments and equipment very nearly touched the lobby's ceiling, which made the pirate hunter question just how her new patrons got the items inside in the first place. Looking back at Mordekaiser, she said, "We don't have room for that here. Unless you're willing to pay for a second room, of course. Your five -whoops, sorry, FOUR- beds would take up the entire space of a room."<br>Mordekaiser glared maliciously at Miss Fortune. "Four beds in the entire room?" he sneered.  
>"Two beds maximum is what I usually offer, so consider yourself lucky." Miss Fortune replied, unfazed by Mordekaiser's attempt at intimidation. "If you want your equipment to stay in here, you're buying a second room."<br>Before Mordekaiser could give his answer, which usually involved his morningstar, Olaf put a hand on the Master of Metal's shoulder. "Relax, Morde, no need to burn another place down. We just had an awesome concert, so we should have more than enough funds to pay for a second room. Yorick, go check the funds and pay the good lady."  
>Miss Fortune watched, unimpressed, as Yorick shuffled over to the Bandwagon and rummaged through the band's belongings, pulling out a Poro bank. Uncorking the bottom of the porcelain poro, the Gravedigger shook the bank vigorously, resulting in a few greasy bills lazily drifting to the floor, followed by a few rusted coins. "What the-" Yorick stammered as Sona gasped in shock.<br>"Freeloaders!?" Mordekaiser bellowed, picking up the pathetic bills. "What is the meaning of this?"  
>Miss Fortune casually shrugged behind the counter. "Hello? Pirates? You <em>really<em> expected any of them to pay? You lot are lucky you even got that amount."  
>"How the hell are we gonna pay for a room now?" Olaf groaned. "We don't even have enough for our OWN room, let alone for our equipment."<br>"Aww, sounds like you're down on your luck." Miss Fortune said teasingly, adding a twitch of her lower lip for effect. "Guess I'll just be seeing you la-"  
>There was a loud clang as a bag suddenly slammed down on the counter in front of Miss Fortune. Sona, now at the front counter, gave an unamused look to the bounty hunter as she pointed at the bag, implying that she should open it. The Maven of the Strings then turned her head to give her bandmates a vicious glare. This wasn't the first time she had saved them like this.<br>Miss Fortune rolled her eyes, and untied the leather laces of the bag to behold a large pile of little golden coins. With a surprised huff, she began to count the coins inside. "Well...with your bills over there, this is enough for one room. I'm really pushing the system with those four beds, you know. Bilgewater fire codes and all."  
>"Then what do we do with our equipment? We could always leave it in the lobby, you know." Yorick growled.<br>"That's not happening." Miss Fortune said flatly. "Best I can offer you is a space in the back of the tavern. Nice little backyard, plenty of room for everything, use it for storage all the time. Nothing will happen to your instruments, I promise."  
>"Done...but only because I want to get this over with and go to bed." With a sigh, Mordekaiser snapped his fingers, and Olaf and Yorick began to carefully wheel the Bandwagon out to the backyard. Sona, still at the counter, held out an open palm towards Miss Fortune, who handed her a rusty silver key.<br>"Down the hall to your left, first door. Have a good night, Pentakill."  
>Meanwhile, outside, in the gutter, Karthus was sober and shivering, regretting the drink yet again while attempting to use his songbook as a blanket.<p>

_The next morning..._

Miss Fortune was watching the tavern's clock impatiently. Those Pentakill fools needed to check out within the next half hour, unless they wanted to pay extra. As if on cue, when the clock chimed 11:30, the band shuffled out of their room, yawning and stretching.  
>"Morning, sunshines." Miss Fortune smiled, taking the key from Sona. "Sleep well?"<br>"Surprisingly, yes." Mordekaiser replied. "Your establishment is quite comfortable, Fortune."  
>"How sweet. Guess you're hitting the road, then. Don't forget your instruments, now." Miss Fortune said, waving the quartet towards the backyard. Olaf and Yorick hurried outside to collect the Bandwagon as Miss Fortune strutted over to check the rum and grog storage behind the counter. "So where's your next concert, anyway?" she asked as Sona stepped outside to collect Karthus.<br>"Bandle City, I believe, unless they force us to cancel again due to ''safety concerns''." Mordekaiser said, making air quotes in disgust at the thought.  
>"Can't imagine why that would be a problem." Miss Fortune smirked, pouring herself a mug of rum from a nearby tap. "I'm sure Pentakill has never given ANY upstanding city a reason to fear them."<br>"You give us too much credit, bounty hunter." Mordekaiser chuckled. "There was that one time that Olaf-"  
>"WHAT THE HELL!?"<br>Mordekaiser and Miss Fortune both heard Olaf's furious roar, and dashed outside to see what had happened. In the backyard, Olaf and Yorick were staring in enraged shock at two heartbreaking sights: the pile of instruments on the ground, and the gaggle of pirates outside of the yard, wheeling a hoard of treasure toward the docks using the Bandwagon.  
>"They didn't even take our instruments..." Yorick said in dismay. "Just the Bandwagon..."<br>"Fortune!" Mordekaiser yelled. "_Explain this!_"  
>"I have nothing to explain." Miss Fortune shrugged. "I promised nothing would happen to your <em>instruments<em>, and here they are. I never promised anything regarding that hunk of scrap you call a wagon. I've got ninety-nine problems in Bilgewater, and stolen band equipment isn't one of them."  
>"Not so fast!" a voice hissed.<br>Miss Fortune turned around to see Sona and Karthus approaching from the lobby. Karthus took one glance at the corsairs outside with the Bandwagon, and put things together. "So our equipment was outside." he said, turning the observation into a statement rather than a question.  
>"Yes." Miss Fortune replied plainly.<br>"In this yard."  
>"Yes."<br>"On your property."  
>"I claim no responsibility for that." Miss Fortune said quickly, raising her hands into the air.<br>"Did we sign a waiver?" Karthus asked shrewdly.  
>"Pardon?" Miss Fortune asked, raising an eyebrow.<br>"Whenever we go anywhere, I have to sign these stupid waivers and paperwork to show that if anything happens to us or our equipment while on tour, we can't sue whoever or wherever's in question." Karthus explained, his eyes glowing brightly as he gave Miss Fortune a sinister smile. "You gave us no such waiver, therefore, we CAN have you claim responsibility for the loss, and I'm sure any city's Tribunal would agree. Are we at an understanding, ma'am?"  
>Miss Fortune stared at Karthus, her mouth agape. The rest of Pentakill was also watching with grins. "See, Karthus!?" Olaf guffawed. "This right here is why we need you to stop drinking! You're the smart one!"<br>Miss Fortune grumbled to herself. "Fine..." she muttered. "I can't exactly afford legal issues with a customer base that hardly pays, either. What can I do to keep this from getting out?"  
>"We get to stay here until we have a way to get our equipment with us to Bandle City. We have two days til the concert, so we won't be too great of an inconvenience, I assume?" Karthus gave a small smirk, knowing Miss Fortune was aware of the alternative.<br>"Fine. But you'd better get cracking on figuring something out." Miss Fortune pulled the rusted silver key out of the pocket of her trousers and shoved it into Karthus's hand, along with a pen. "Because this time," she added coldly, "I'm getting that two-day agreement in writing."


	2. Day One, 12 PM (48 Hours Remaining)

**Day One, 12:00 PM (48 Hours Remaining)**

In the lobby of Fortune's Favor, the members of Pentakill were seated around a circular table, all out of their band costumes, and all scratching their heads. The pile of instruments had been moved from the backyard, and now the bandmembers were all holding their respective musical companions tightly for fear of losing them (except for Olaf, whose drums wouldn't fit on or near the table, and so were sitting in the nearby corner. Sona, meanwhile, did not fear losing the etwahl currently cradled in her arms, as it always magically returned to her anyway.). The question of how to transport their equipment was a puzzling one indeed, however, and the usually raucous musicians sat in silence (again, nothing unusual for Sona), their minds racing to find a solution.  
>"Any ideas yet?" Miss Fortune asked cheerfully as she cleaned a mug with a soft, damp cloth.<br>"When we get one, you'll be the first to know." Karthus muttered as he fiddled with the pages of his songbook.  
>Olaf was glancing up at the tavern's clock up above the counter, absorbed in its rhythmic ticking. He unconsciously began tapping one finger on the table in rhythm with the clock. <em>Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.<em>  
>Sona glanced over at the Freljordian, her facial expression one of curiosity. Wanting to join in on the fun, she lightly began plucking at her etwahl, the sweet ringing of her strings blending with Olaf's improvised drumming.<br>Yorick, who had always enjoyed Sona's music, metal or otherwise, started quietly tugging at the strings of his own instrument, letting the deep, low humming of his bass combine and contrast with the light, airy tones of Sona's etwahl.  
>Mordekaiser sat grumbling, not touching a single fret on his guitar. This wasn't metal, and anything that wasn't metal was immediately lesser music in his eyes. Some may have called him close-minded, but he simply considered himself a lord of fine tastes. So until his bandmates cranked it up to eleven, he was having no part in this.<br>Karthus, meanwhile, was browsing through his songbook for some lyrics. Flipping wildly through the pages and finding nothing appropriate, decided to throw words to the wind, and screamed in the high falsetto he often used in Pentakill performances, causing the nearby Miss Fortune to jump and drop the mug she had been cleaning.  
>For the other bandmembers, however, Karthus's shout was invigorating, like a call to battle. Each of them grew more enthusiastic about their jam session, with Olaf now drumming with open palms rather than a single finger. Yorick and Sona were now standing back-to-back, with chords and riffs flying from their strings, which quivered violently at the command of their musical masters.<br>"Now THIS is music!" Mordekaiser chuckled, lifting his guitar and striking up a few power chords with a windmilling arm. At this point, what was at first a light, almost sweet rhythm had become a ghastly cacophony in comparison, but you couldn't tell any of Pentakill that. They were simply _shredding_ now, as if it was what they had all been born (or resurrected) to do.  
>Karthus's shriek rose to a forte, and words began to take shape. At first none of the band recognized it, but after a second or two, everything fell into place and the sinister-sounding lyrics were identified: Karthus's Requiem, the same curse-like song he often invoked in League matches. While the Shadow Isles denizens were unaffected by its deathly powers outside of the Rift, Sona and Olaf certainly felt it, and their bodies seemed to weaken ever so slightly. However, in the heat of a jam session as epic as this one, they didn't care, and the music played on.<br>Or so they thought.  
><em><strong>BANG! Smash!<strong>_ The sounds of a gunshot and a window shattering cut the fun short. The band all turned to see a very angry-looking Miss Fortune, holding a smoking flintlock.  
>"First of all," the bounty hunter yelled, "This ain't the Shadow Isles, you creeps! Any more funeral dirges, Karthus, and I'm shoving that book somewhere you won't be able to read it!" Karthus simply scowled in response.<br>"And secondly?" Mordekaiser asked, annoyed that his precious metal had not only been interrupted, but ceased. Unbelievable.  
>"Secondly, I don't know what 'thinking' or 'planning' means to you metalheads, but I can't even see straight with that noise, let alone think straight. My friendly suggestion to all of you is to shut up and start brainstorming. The clock's ticking, you know. And you owe me a new grog mug, Karthus!" Miss Fortune added before reaching for a new mug to clean.<br>"What be going on in here?!" a familiar voice bellowed from outside. The door to the tavern opened, and Gangplank, the Saltwater Scourge, walked inside with a hole in the top of his hat. "Ah, yer aim be getting better, Fortune, lass." Gangplank said, nodding towards the pistol in Miss Fortune's holster as he sat at the bar.  
>"Sadly, I wasn't <em>aiming<em> for you this time." Miss Fortune muttered, begrudgingly pouring Gangplank a mug of grog and sliding it down the counter. "I was just shutting a few annoying musicians up."  
>"Oh?" Gangplank looked around and saw the quintet at the table. "Well, blow me down! Pentakill! How was the concert last night, ye scallywags?"<br>"Cheap." Olaf answered coldly, raising an eyebrow towards Gangplank, since there was a good chance a large number of the pirates at the concert were in his crew.  
>"Aye, that it would be. Hard to separate a true Bilgewater rogue from his hard-earned gold." Gangplank nodded solemnly, as Miss Fortune coughed to disguise her laughter at the word 'hard-earned'.<br>"And now some pirates have made off with our Bandwagon..." Yorick groaned with a forlorn softness.  
>"Is that the junky thing ye carried yer booty in?" Gangplank asked, taking an orange out of his pocket and using his cutlass to carefully peel it, not paying any attention to Mordekaiser, who was clearly getting tired of hearing his creation being compared to junk and was now swearing under his breath.<br>"It was a fine vehicle for our equipment." Mordekaiser finally replied after a stream of curses and a couple of deep breaths. "And now some pillager is using it for their own greedy schemes. Meanwhile, Pentakill is left without a way to carry our equipment across Valoran."  
>"That be a sad tale, indeed." Gangplank said between noisy mouthfuls of orange as juice dripped down his beard. "Can ye not simply carry it yerselves?"<br>"He has a point." Olaf mused. "I bet that I could carry everyone's equipment and not break a sweat."  
>"Excuse me, Berserker, but I recall an incident in Demacia where you managed to set your drumset on fire." Mordekaiser pointed out. "Since then, none of us have cared to trust you with our own precious instruments. Furthermore, how would you go about carrying the speakers?"<br>"Uh...Yorick can carry them. He's got little zombies, doesn't he?" Olaf suggested.  
>Yorick whirled on Olaf. "The ghouls I summon on the Rift fight as penance for their sins in life. The other souls I have buried have earned their eternal rest. I refuse to have them carry our luggage as if they were beasts of burden!"<br>"Whoa, all right, calm down, Gravedigger, I get it." Olaf sighed. "It was just a suggestion. You carry the speakers then."  
>"Are we all forgetting something here?" Karthus interjected. "We're not just any old band. We're Pentakill - the best metal band in Valoran!"<br>Sona held up one finger to remind Karthus that they were the _only_ metal band in Valoran.  
>"Whatever!" Karthus brushed Sona off, continuing his speech. "Either way, it results in us being something incredible, something special and unique in the eyes of all Runeterra! We're too amazing to be caught carrying our own supplies! What would the other bands across the world think?"<br>"Karthus is right!" Mordekaiser gasped in horror. "Any other band would see us as a joke! No band of good standing carries their own equipment! But then...what can we do? It would take me some time to forge a new Bandwagon, certainly more time than we have before we must be in Bandle City..."  
>"Besides, it just wouldn't be the same..." Yorick added with a shake of his head. "There is only one Pentakill Bandwagon."<br>"Amen." Karthus nodded, bowing his head slightly.  
>"If I may be speakin', landlubbers?" Gangplank, who had finished his orange, raised a hand. "From what I be seein', it sounds like your crew be a wee bit short-handed. Maybe some fresh blood on the deck be yer solution."<br>Mordekaiser, jumping to conclusions, stood and readied his morningstar. "Fresh blood? That can easily be arranged, pirate."  
>Sona swiftly rose from her chair, firing a sharp, discordant noise from her etwahl that knocked Mordekaiser back into his seat. She then shook her head, and held up six fingers.<br>"I do not understand, Maven." Mordekaiser groaned, the noise from the etwahl still painfully ringing in his helmet.  
>"She means," Karthus explained, "That what Captain Gangplank said was that we should hire a sixth member of Pentakill: a roadie! Their primary job would be to carry our belongings and transport them for us."<br>"Sounds good!" Olaf said. "So who wants to be our roadie?"  
>"What about the two of you?" Yorick asked Miss Fortune and Gangplank.<br>"I got a crew to be takin' care of." Gangplank said, shaking his head. "And the lady here, well, it be yer funeral if ye take her."  
>"Yeah, right, I don't even <em>like<em> their music." Miss Fortune scoffed. "So that's a no from me."  
>"Guess we've got to spread the word that we're hiring, then." Olaf said. "See who shows up here to audition. Just like old times, eh?"<br>"As long as no one's auditions end up similar to yours, Berserker." Mordekaiser replied with a chuckle.  
>"What happened?" Miss Fortune and Gangplank asked in unison.<br>"He knows what he did." Karthus answered quickly.  
>"And you all know you liked it." Olaf retorted. "Hey, Karthus? Still have that pen? I think we need to make an advertisement."<p>

**Author's Notes: So the auditions begin soon! Which champions you would like to see audition to be Pentakill's roadie? (I already have decided the lucky champion who gets the job, but that's for me to know and you guys to find out!) Three champions are already confirmed, but if I receive requests, I will try my best to have them make appearances (limiting to probably 15-20 champions max)! Feel free to PM me if you have a request!**


	3. Day One, 3 PM (45 Hours Remaining)

**Day One, 3:00 PM (45 Hours Remaining)**

_HELP WANTED:_  
><em> We are seeking a brave and possibly insane individual who is willing to take on the responsibility of carrying and transporting valuable property, including musical instruments, speakers, lighting, pyrotechnics, and other awesome things. Failure to carry out these responsibilities upon hiring may result in loss of limb, life, andor the enslavement of one's soul._

_ If you are interested in interviewing for such a position, please contact Lord Mordekaiser, or any other member of Pentakill, at Fortune's Favor in Bilgewater, before the 19th of this month. This position will only be open for two days, so do not hesitate. Auditions/interviews are being held in Fortune's Favor. Thank you for your interest._

_ With metal regards,_  
><em> Pentakill<em>

_ P.S. Please hurry. We're desperate._

"There." Karthus said, finally putting his pen down. "I think this should work."  
>"I don't know..." Miss Fortune mused as she leaned over Karthus to read the newly written ad. "That whole 'enslavement of one's soul' thing could be a turn-off for people..."<br>"Like you know anything about turning people off, Fortune." Olaf snickered, much to Sona's disgust as she too took a peek at the advertisement.  
>"You're bolting for an ulting, Freljordian." Miss Fortune warned in an icy voice, putting her hands on her hips. "Anyway, this is just a <em>roadie job<em>? It can't be _that_ dangerous."  
>"You underestimate the might of Pentakill!" Mordekaiser laughed. "We are the deadliest musicians in Valoran. Not just ANYONE has what it takes to be our roadie. It needs to be someone of strong mind, body, and spirit!"<br>"Particularly that last part." Karthus nodded in agreement.  
>Miss Fortune rolled her eyes. Shadow Isles humor. "Well, I can hang one of these ads up here in the tavern, but if you want to get people's attention, you're going to have to write some copies and spread them around."<br>"Oh, my poor fingers." Karthus lamented. "How many would you suggest?"  
>"At least fifty, maybe more." Miss Fortune answered with what could have been an attempt at a sadistic smirk.<br>Karthus was silent and still as the corpses that had so fascinated him all his life. "Oh, Sona?" he suddenly asked. "I have a job for you, dear!"  
>"She's gone." Olaf said matter-of-factly.<br>"What!? Where!?" Karthus demanded, whirling out of his chair to find the Maven of the Strings, who was indeed nowhere to be found.  
>Yorick pointed out the window Miss Fortune had previously shot through, where Sona was standing outside the tavern, holding the advertisement over her head with a big smile. "I think she made her own job." the Gravedigger said plainly.<br>Karthus yelled some sort of frustrated incantation, likely one he had memorized from his book, and an unearthly gust of wind blew through the tavern, knocking over a thankfully unlit oil lamp.  
>"Are you TRYING to break everything I own before you leave?!" Miss Fortune shrieked as she dove to the floor, just catching the fragile lamp.<br>"Consider yourself fortunate that the lamp was my only victim." Karthus hissed, picking the pen up again as Yorick brought him a stack of paper. "Ugh...it'll take me all night just to write these cursed ads! There must be a better way!"  
>"Aww, looks like the dead can't perform all miracles, can they?" Miss Fortune said in a saccharine voice as she dusted herself off and returned the lamp to its proper place.<br>"Do not try my patience, woman..." Karthus growled. Mordekaiser and Yorick, being of the Shadow Isles themselves, shared Karthus's distaste for the bounty hunter's comment.  
>"How about all of us help Karthus with writing the ads? Sona can just come back in with the first copy for all of us to look at." Olaf suggested.<br>"Olaf, your writing is comparable to Urgot's face." Mordekaiser replied. "While I loathe the idea of being inferior in anything, Karthus has admittedly far better handwriting than any of us could dream to accomplish. Except possibly Sona." the Master of Metal added, mumbling something about women always having good handwriting.  
>"Well, we are wasting time just sitting here complaining..." Yorick said morosely. "Just get writing, Karthus, before we're stuck here all night."<br>Karthus sighed, and pen met paper once more. Though the Deathsinger had eternity, Pentakill's time was steadily running out.

About a half hour later, Karthus had hand-written five new advertisements for the roadie position. As he stared forlornly at the measly little pile of paper he had scrawled upon, the front door creaked open, and Sona walked back inside, now holding two papers of her own. One was Karthus's original ad, and the other was a flyer of strange design. The Maven of the Strings had a grumpy expression on her face, like she had just been forced to do something that she didn't want to do.  
>"Welcome back, Maven." Mordekaiser said warmly, clapping Sona on the shoulder in greeting. "Has anyone answered Pentakill's call yet?"<br>Sona shook her head, pointing to the second paper she had received.  
>Mordekaiser took the paper from her, eyeing the document carefully. "Where did you even get this?"<br>Sona shrugged, using a hand to imitate a person walking before shoving the paper into her own face. Someone must have been trying to advertise on the same street, and gave the strange paper to her.  
>Mordekaiser sighed, crumpling the paper into a ball and tossing it behind him. "Well, that's certainly not someone I would want as a roadie. All that woman can do is make copies of herself..."<br>"What woman?" Olaf asked, picking up the ball and unfolding the paper. The advertisement read: _Come one, come all, to the Prestigious LeBlanc's Illustrious Illusions Extravaganza! Now performing in Bilgewater!_  
>"LeBlanc?" Karthus asked. "No, I do not think she is what we seek in a roa-<em>Wait<em>!" he suddenly shouted, holding up a skeletal hand. "Mordekaiser, what was it you said she did?"  
>"She just makes copies of herself-" Mordekaiser paused, the impact of his words hitting harder than any metal ever could. "<em>Makes copies!<em>" he repeated with a triumphant laugh. "Pentakill, our problems are solved! Come, we must pay a visit to our Noxian acquaintance!"  
>Three of the bandmembers cheered, and Sona happily applauded. The band then filed out of Fortune's Favor, scrambling to find wherever the Deciever was performing in town.<br>If auditions were to be done tonight, then Emilia LeBlanc was Pentakill's last hope.


	4. Day One, 5 PM (43 Hours Remaining)

**Day One, 5:00 PM (43 Hours Remaining)**

After about an hour of wandering through Bilgewater, the members of Pentakill came across a shabby-looking building, likely an old theater. Sona recognized and pointed at a copy of the poster she had been given.  
>"Yes, Sona, we see it. We ALL see it..." Karthus said in borderline disgust. There were enough posters tacked and taped to the theater's exterior to give the building a full set of wallpaper. Hundreds of little papery LeBlancs smiled leeringly down at Pentakill, and the band looked back, with mixed looks of horror and unease.<br>"This is making me uncomfortable..." Olaf said quietly. "Can we go inside now?"  
>Mordekaiser nodded, and the band walked in one by one, looking around the shabby theater, decorated with antique props and posters of performances in older days.<br>"Almost looks like home." Yorick observed softly, lightly brushing a finger across an old poster featuring a magician in the process of being buried alive.  
>"Speak for yourself. This place gives me the creeps." Olaf muttered. Pentakill's three Shadow Isles denizens all turned to stare at the Berserker. "What?" Olaf asked.<br>Sona, meanwhile, was staring, transfixed, at a painting featuring a roguish-looking magician standing beside a lovely woman, obviously his assistant.  
>"What is it, Maven?" Mordekaiser asked, walking over to stand beside Sona in front of the painting. "Imagining yourself in such a role, perhaps?"<br>Sona nodded with a tiny smile. Supporting had always sort of been her forte.  
>"Intriguing." Mordekaiser mused, chuckling a little to himself. "And who is your bold and charismatic magician, eh? Is it someone we know?"<br>Sona's mouth dropped open, and she blushed furiously as she glared mutely at Mordekaiser, clear Sona language for, "None of your business!"  
>Mordekaiser laughed harder. "Of course, Maven." he said, patting her shoulder once. "Enough reminiscing for all of us, however. Where is LeBlanc?"<br>"Excuse me, but what are you all doing making such a racket in here!?" A male voice hissed angrily.  
>Mordekaiser and Sona turned from the painting to see that Jericho Swain had hobbled in from a nearby set of double doors. His beloved raven was perched on his shoulder, giving Pentakill a silent, enigmatic stare.<br>"There is a performance currently underway!" Swain barked, irritably tapping the theater's floor with his cane. "Where are your tickets?"  
>"Hold on a moment!" Olaf grumbled, walking over to look Swain in the eye. "Tell me something, Noxian, who died and made YOU the bouncer here?"<br>"The previous bouncer, of course." Swain replied with a sneer, not even blinking at Olaf's intimidating approach, as his raven seemed to make some sort of rough vocalization, almost like a soft chuckle at an inside joke. "Now, I'll repeat the question: Where are your tickets?"  
>"We are not even here for your damned performance!" Mordekaiser growled, his eyes glowing a bright crimson. If the Berserker couldn't rattle Swain, <em>he would<em>. "We merely wish to speak with LeBlanc."  
>"Well, you're going to have to wait until AFTER the performance!" Swain snapped, lifting his cane to give Mordekaiser a smack on the helmet, which sounded with a resonant clang. No one in Valoran could ever accuse the Master Tactician of cowardice.<br>"How DARE you strike the Master of Metal!?" Mordekaiser roared, raising his morningstar above his head as a magical current flowed through it. The mace swung downward at breakneck speed towards Swain's head. The Noxian general, however, remained unmoving, and in the blink of an eye, had brought his cane up to his face. The two weapons collided with a crash - the cane showing a surprising deal of sturdiness - and Swain and Mordekaiser were left staring daggers at one another from behind their chosen arms.  
>"Stand aside!" Mordekaiser bellowed.<br>"I would never yield to the likes of you!" Swain taunted.  
>"Old, crippled fool!"<br>"Inhuman scum!"  
>"Would you two knock it off?" Yorick asked, throwing his hands up in exasperation.<br>"No!" Swain and Mordekaiser shouted in unison, not taking their eyes off of each other for a second.  
>The rest of Pentakill looked at each other nervously. This little task had gone so far off track, the train was going backwards. And with Swain and Mordekaiser locked in combat, it was bound to only get uglier with the passage of time. Just when it seemed that all hope was lost, the double doors Swain had entered the lobby from burst open, and an audience of pirates and nobles alike paraded out into the lobby and out the front doors, chattering about the incredible magic tricks they had just witnessed.<br>"Haha, see!?" Olaf laughed as the last of the audience departed from the building. "Show's over! We can go in now, right?"  
>Swain chuckled, slowly lowering his cane and stepping back. "Not so fast." he said. "Your metallic friend here assaulted me. He is armed and clearly dangerous, and as you are all traveling with him, you are obviously his accomplices! I cannot allow any of you inside!"<br>"Good going, Mordekaiser." Karthus whispered to no one in particular.  
>"Silence." Mordekaiser replied without even bothering to whisper.<br>"Now, since there seem to be no objections," Swain continued, "I'm going to have to ask all of you to QUIETLY lea- Er, Lady Buvelle?" Swain blinked as Sona approached from between Yorick and Karthus. "What exactly are you doing with this riffraff? Oh...ohhh, that's right. You five are a band." Swain rolled his eyes at the last word, glancing at his feathered companion. "Can you believe that? They are a band!"  
>The raven hid his head under his wing in apparent shame.<br>"Glad to know you share my opinion." Swain nodded to the bird before turning back to Sona. "I don't know what you see in these fools, Lady Buvelle...and you're certainly not going to convince me to let them in to speak to Emilia!"  
>Sona raised an eyebrow, smiling cordially at Swain. It was clear she was confident that she indeed <em>could<em> convince him.  
>"Oho, are you taking that as a challenge?" Swain laughed in amusement. "Typical Demacian, 'tis a shame <em>they<em> adopted you. Very well," Swain said, giving Sona a graceful yet mocking bow. "Do your worst!"  
>Sona shrugged, still giving Swain a genuine smile. Reaching into the folds of her sky-blue dress with her right hand, she pulled out a piece of paper, holding it in front of Swain's face.<br>"A ticket!?" Swain chortled. "Oh, it would take far more than an invitation to your group's noise to sway me, my lady."  
>Sona frowned, waving the ticket more insistently.<br>Swain took a closer look at the ticket and gasped. It was not a ticket to the next Pentakill concert as he had suspected, but a front-row seat to one of her personal recitals. Swain bit his lower lip. So she knew after all. A member of Noxian High Command, enjoying the music of a Demacian citizen. Yet she never said a word, and played as gracefully for him as any other guest. It was small wonder that the Maven of the Strings met warm reception near anywhere she went, and knew great popularity in the League of Legends. No matter. He had to try and cover for himself. "Er, that's quite an offer, but I cannot accept it." Swain cleared his throat. "I am an esteemed general, and would need my bodyguards to accompany me at all times. Tragically, it seems that you do not have-"  
>Sona's thumb slid to the right, and through sleight of hand that would have made Twisted Fate proud, she revealed four more identical tickets.<br>"Oh...I see." Swain could have keeled over that very minute and died of embarrassment. It was too good of an opportunity. At least he didn't have to worry about being seen purchasing her tickets this time. Putting on a scowl, he swiped the tickets from Sona's hand. "Go." he muttered, hobbling towards the theater's front entrance. As he limped past the rest of Pentakill, the Master Tactician raised his cane, and pointed it at the band in a threatening gesture. "You never saw anything here." Swain said firmly. "Oh, and Lady Buvelle?" he added as he stood in the lobby's doorway. "Do make some new friends other than these undead hooligans. I fear they may someday be a bad influence upon you. Good day, 'Pentakill'. Forever strong!" With those words, the Grand General of Noxus walked outside.  
>When Swain shut the door, Sona turned back to her companions with a smile.<br>"Sona, you never cease to amaze me." Karthus shook his head in disbelief. "How were you able to sway him so easily?"  
>Sona put a hand to her mouth as if she was hiding a secret, then pointed with her free hand, first outside towards Swain, then to a nearby supply closet.<br>"I had no idea Swain played that lane." Olaf said, scratching his head. A choking noise could then be heard as Yorick and Karthus tried not to laugh.  
>Sona glanced at Olaf, unamused. That was <em>not<em> what she meant at all. Perhaps Karthus had a point last night when he called the Berserker an idiot.  
>"Enough gossip!" Mordekaiser barked. "Focus on the task at hand, Pentakill! Let us approach the stage and speak with LeBlanc! Karthus, do you still have the advertisement with you?"<br>"Of course." Karthus opened his songbook to reveal where he had been keeping the ad, safe and neatly tucked away in its pages.  
>"Excellent. Forward, to the stage!" Mordekaiser commanded, with all the confidence and fierceness he exemplified as a general of the Shadow Isles. No one remained to keep them from their goal any longer.<p>

Walking through the double doors and past the rows of tattered, velvety seats, Mordekaiser and the other bandmembers could see Emilia LeBlanc on stage, wearing a silk top hat and a matching suit of black and red, the dark fabric distinctive against her pale skin. She did not seem to pay much attention to her new visitors as they walked to the front row and sat down, apparently preoccupied with packing everything up on stage.  
>Yorick attempted to quietly clear his throat, just enough of a noise to possibly get LeBlanc's attention. However, though his soft coughing echoed through the theater, the Deciever paid the noise no heed.<br>Karthus grew impatient, and added his own coughing to Yorick's, followed soon by Olaf. (Sona merely covered her mouth so she could at least pretend.) It was clear now that LeBlanc was deliberately ignoring them, as the band spotted her rolling her eyes at their tactics. Or perhaps it was at the magic trunk whose lid seemed jammed, who knew. The coughing cacophony continued, drowning out the whirring hum of the ceiling fans, until Mordekaiser decided enough was enough. The Master of Metal rose to his feet, and at the top of his lungs, roared, "BOOOOOOO! GET OFF THE STAGE, YOU FRAUD!"  
>It seemed to do the trick, as LeBlanc suddenly turned to her audience of five, and hollered, "Who said that!? Who dares to insult the Prestigious LeBlanc!?"<br>The other four members of Pentakill all pointed at Mordekaiser without a second thought. "Traitors." Mordekaiser grumbled, crossing his arms. "All of you."  
>LeBlanc squinted angrily at her visitors, lips tightly pursed. "The Prestigious LeBlanc demands to know why you insist on staying after the show to speak to her."<br>"We'd like to ask for your help with something, please." Karthus said carefully, trying to take the polite high ground.  
>"Ha, and again, <em>ha<em>! The Prestigious LeBlanc must have been mistaken!" LeBlanc was holding her sides tightly as she laughed. "She thought this was the crude and obnoxious metal band known as Pentakill, not a gaggle of comedians with manners! What would you possibly ask the Prestigious LeBlanc for assistance with?"  
>Karthus, who seemed to have broken the ice, decided to continue before someone in the band said something LeBlanc wouldn't like. Flattery could go far in this situation. "Well, ahem... We have an important document that we must have made into copies, and a lot of them, in a short amount of time. Ideally, we would need the copies by tonight, and when we saw your <em>beautifully made poster<em>," Karthus paused a moment before continuing, silently pushing himself to keep laying on the compliments, true or otherwise. "You were the first we thought of as a solution to our predicament, nay, our savior in these troubled times. Death may last forever, my dear Deciever, but in this case, we simply don't have that. Would you please demonstrate your magical prowess and duplicate our own advertisement so that we may be on our way?"  
>"Hmm..." LeBlanc seemed to be considering Karthus's proposal, tapping the end of her magic staff against her chin. "The Prestigious LeBlanc approves of the fact that you are smart enough to go to the best when in need."<br>Karthus nodded, holding his tongue, and glancing cautiously back at the band, making sure they weren't getting ready to speak up and ruin everything.  
>"However!" LeBlanc snapped, bringing her staff down upon the stage's wooden floor with a bang. "She does NOT approve of the thunderous racket you made while arguing with her staff, namely her assigned security. The Prestigious LeBlanc is only thankful that her wonderful audience MOSTLY drowned out the chaos you created when you had your altercation with Jericho Swain!"<br>Karthus felt himself wither inside a little. As far as civility was concerned, LeBlanc was absolutely right in this case. Swain may have swung at Mordekaiser first, but he was apparently telling the truth and actually doing his job as a bouncer. Furthermore, a tap on the helmet with a wooden cane compared to full-on attempted assault with a solid steel morningstar didn't leave much room for debate. In fact, Pentakill was probably very lucky that Swain decided to simply walk away and not press charges, or report Mordekaiser to the Bilgewater Tribunal.  
>"Very well," Karthus sighed. "Your point has been made. It was wrong of us to do, and we are terribly sorry about that." Karthus then looked back at Mordekaiser. "Right?" he added in a low hiss.<br>Mordekaiser only grumbled something under his breath. Whether an apology was laced in there or not was something that would likely remain unknown for eternity, as well as whether or not the apology would have even been sincere, though everyone in the room highly doubted it.  
>"Nevertheless," Karthus continued, "We still implore you to help us. And if there is anything we can do to redeem ourselves for our despicable behavior, we will gladly do so."<br>"We will?" Olaf asked Karthus from where he was seated with the rest of the band.  
>Yorick and Sona, sitting on either side of Olaf, both hit him on whichever shoulder was nearest to them in order to shut him up.<br>"Yes, we will." Karthus said loudly, staring at Olaf for a second before turning back to LeBlanc. "Would this offer mean anything to you?"  
>"Well...the Prestigious LeBlanc does have another show in about an hour, and Swain was only scheduled as security for the earlier performance." LeBlanc gave Pentakill a wide smile. "Aha! The Prestigious LeBlanc has a glorious plan! She will have you all assisting during the show!"<br>"And if we do this," Karthus said quickly. "You will duplicate our advertisement after the show?"  
>"Yes, yes, whatever." LeBlanc said hurriedly, grabbing Karthus by the shoulders and pushing him backstage. "The rest of you, get in here! The Prestigious LeBlanc needs to reset the stage, and all of you need to get ready! The show must go on!"<br>The bandmembers offstage all got out of their seats and rushed to get backstage. Sona seemed excited, Olaf was nervous, and Yorick didn't care. Mordekaiser, meanwhile, was chuckling to himself as he pictured LeBlanc trying and failing to saw him in half.

**Author's Notes: Reposted this one after I noticed some slight editing was needed. What can I say? I dislike seeing spelling errors in my work, but doesn't everybody? :P  
>Also, if any bronies are reading this, as with all readers, thank you for your support, first of all, and YES, if there is suspicion, I did take some inspiration from the Great and Powerful Trixie for LeBlanc's character. It just seemed too appropriate for the Prestigious LeBlanc skin. xD<br>**


	5. Night One, 7 PM (41 Hours Remaining)

**Night One, 7 PM (41 Hours Remaining)**

"Places, everyone!" LeBlanc snapped as she adjusted her hat behind the stage's velvety curtain. "The Prestigious LeBlanc does not have all night!"

Nearby, the Pentakill members were trying to get themselves ready in the short amount of time they had left. Well, with the exception of one. Mordekaiser's dream of humiliating LeBlanc during the 'sawing-in-half' trick had been swiftly crushed when she assigned him to security duty. While Mordekaiser was easily able to hide his disappointment, claiming it was a natural choice due to his size and strength, he was perhaps ever so slightly regretting threatening Swain earlier in the evening, as that was likely a larger factor in the Deciever's decision.

Backstage, the rest of the band was getting into costume. LeBlanc refused to allow any of them to wear their usual concert attire ("LeBlanc is putting on an extravagant performance of illusion, NOT a mosh pit!"), but she had a large wardrobe at her disposal, and had told them she was certain they would find something to her liking. She appeared to be mistaken, however, as Olaf and Yorick both ignored the costumes and stuck with their own clothes.

Karthus, who was now in a black satin robe with white trimmings, slipped a white porcelain mask over his withering face, and turned to Olaf and Yorick. "What do you think? Too much?"

"Very enigmatic..." Yorick mumbled. "I like it."

Karthus also seemed pleased with his choice of attire, as he admired the mask in a mirror, turning his head to view his concealed face from different angles. His jaw suddenly dropped, however, as he continued staring in the mirror. "Oh, my..."

"Okay, Karthus, take it easy." Olaf chuckled. "You don't look THAT fabulous."

"Not me, you imbecile!" Karthus hissed, his voice dropping to a low whisper. "Sona..."

Olaf and Yorick turned to see Sona approaching, in a very elegant-looking robe of red and gold, decorated with stars. "Er... isn't that more of a Snowdown-looking outfit?" Yorick asked.

Sona crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow at the Gravedigger.

"As long as it's not black and spiky, she can wear whatever she likes!" LeBlanc said hurriedly, grabbing Sona and ushering her towards the still closed curtain. "Now get to your places so LeBlanc can start this show! Karthus, you're on!"

Karthus glanced back at Olaf and Yorick. "I apologize, friends, but my audience...awaits." Karthus turned with a flourish, gliding over to the curtain, and taking a microphone while still hidden by the velvety drapes. Clearing his throat, Karthus spoke in an ethereal voice. "Ladies and gentlemen of Bilgewater, prepare your eyes and minds for an exquisite presentation of the world of illusion, which shall leave witnesses in disbelief at the spectacle before them! Allow us to take you into a realm of magic and mystery! And here is your guide for this journey, the Prestigious LeBlanc!"

LeBlanc pushed her way through the curtain and was greeted by the loud cheers of bored pirates waiting to see some magic tricks. "Thank you, thank you! The Prestigious LeBlanc thanks you all!" The Deciever's voice could be heard as the applause died down. "You are such a wonderful audience, LeBlanc can tell! Why not share some of your love for her assistant? Let's hear it for the Maven of the Strings, Sona!"

Sona emerged from backstage, and due to her already established popularity as a musician, received even heartier cheers than LeBlanc, though not without a few rather crude requests from more bold or intoxicated audience members. Sona ignored the catcalls, however, and simply waved with a smile.

"Now then, Sona," LeBlanc walked over, putting a hand on Sona's shoulder. "Do you know anything about magic or illusion?" Sona shook her head, a clear 'no'. "Well!" LeBlanc exclaimed, raising her staff. "Let the Prestigious LeBlanc demonstrate!"

There was an explosion of sparks, and a bouquet of flowers emerged from the tip of LeBlanc's staff. To be exact, it was a bouquet of black roses. Sona wasn't too fond of the color, and they didn't exactly look as if they would smell as nice as more ordinary roses, but for the sake of the show, she carefully took the bouquet, hoping there were no thorns to worry about, and cheerfully sniffed at the blossoms.

Olaf and Yorick, who were up on the catwalk managing lights and other technical workings, watched the scene from above.

"Not quite Sona's style." Olaf said of the black roses. "And they look odd with how bright and colorful she is right now. Those look like flowers you'd have at a funeral."

"And what is wrong with that?" Yorick asked, raising an indignant eyebrow before being interrupted by LeBlanc.

"And now LeBlanc's lovely assistant has volunteered herself for a number of dangerous and deadly demonstrations!" LeBlanc said, her voice low and dangerous as she spoke. "What do you say, Bilgewater? Shall we get started?"

The audience was a tempest of emotion, some wanting to get on with the magic, others showing concern for the pretty Sona.

Outside in the lobby, Mordekaiser was standing in an empty theater, overhearing what was going on. These weren't the tricks LeBlanc was performing last show, at least not from what they had heard from inside before their conflict with Jericho Swain. LeBlanc must have been taking advantage of having new assistants and reworking the show, if only for one performance. Mordekaiser grumbled to himself. The rest of the band was having fun backstage, and here he was as a bouncer in an empty room. Even just some company would have been nice.

A loud rapping at the window pulled Mordekaiser from his thoughts. The Master of Metal turned to see Swain tapping on the window with his cane. _Be careful what you wish for_, Mordekaiser groaned to himself with a sigh as he opened the theater's door. "Are you back on security duty?" Mordekaiser asked, glancing down at Swain.

"You wish." Swain muttered. "I saw you alone in here and was wondering what had happened to Lady Buvelle."

"Apparently, she is your friend's assistant in some sort of dangerous illusions." Mordekaiser explained.

"Damn you, Emilia!" Swain hissed, tapping the floor with his cane in frustration. "If any harm befalls her..."

"She is an illusionist, is she not?" Mordekaiser asked, leaning on his morningstar. "Sona should be perfectly safe."

"She can clone herself, yes." Swain sighed. "Along with other objects, but she's not exactly the greatest escape artist in Runeterra. There may be...mistakes."

While Swain could not see Mordekaiser's face, the Master Tactician could hear an identically grave tone in the Shadow Isles lord's voice. "Just what would LeBlanc have planned?" Mordekaiser asked.

Swain sighed, shaking his head, until a poster on the wall caught his eye. "Oh, gods..." the Noxian general whispered. "Oh, Emilia, what have you done?"

Mordekaiser stepped over to look at the poster. "Ah, Yorick was looking at that po-" Mordekaiser stopped mid-sentence, realization hitting harder than any amount of steel could. "General Swain, you don't suppose-"

"No, I DON'T suppose, Mordekaiser." Swain said in uncharacteristic nervousness. "I _know_."

The two generals gazed in horror at the poster's tale: A young maiden being buried alive with the hopes that she would re-emerge with her life intact.

**Author's Notes: First of all, let me apologize for the SEVERE delay that this story has faced. Life simply got in the way, and I found myself juggling family/relationship obligations, job-hunting, and a couple other things that left my fan-fics on the back burner.  
><strong>

**Thank you to everyone who is loyally following Pentakill's tale, leaving comments and spreading the word. These mean more to me than I can ever describe. As I write this, The Sixth Man is on the brink of 1k views, which is the most any of my writing has ever been viewed, and by readers like you all around the world, no less. Your support is what fuels me, and I love being able to give you all funny stories to read!**

**On that note, any of you that are also Halo fans are encouraged to check out my first fan-fic, The 'Traot Saga, which is also a work-in-progress at the moment, and is more of an actiony/sci-fi venture, but with the same dialogue-based humor and heart you've come to find from The Sixth Man! I hope to begin somewhat regularly updating again, and I hope you guys are still looking forward to more shenanigans from our favorite metal band!**

**P.S. Does this format with line breaks look better/easier to read, or was the usual format better? Please let me know!**


	6. 40 and a Half Hours Remaining

**Night One, 7:30 PM (40.5 Hours Remaining)**

The lights in the theater had dimmed, with a single pale spotlight focusing on center stage, where Yorick was lowering a coffin into an opened trapdoor as Karthus sang a soft, melancholy dirge. Sona was standing in her usual silence beside the Deathsinger, her head bowed slightly as she still held the black roses from earlier.  
>"Anyone who is familiar with the Fields of Justice knows of the gifts of the Prestigious LeBlanc, being able to duplicate herself and fool her enemies!" LeBlanc was standing to the side, explaining the situation. "It has never had a positive impact on this trick for her, since it's just too easy! However, what if LeBlanc was to perform this trick with another? Well, you're a very special audience, Bilgewater, because for the first and only time, you will get to see what happens!"<p>

Outside the theater, Mordekaiser and Swain (along with his precious raven) were against the door, listening in on LeBlanc, clearly hearing her over the deathly silence from the audience.  
>"Why do we not just burst in?" Mordekaiser asked impatiently. "I am not going to lose my keyboardist because you chose to wait!"<br>"If this performance fails, Noxus's reputation as a whole will suffer! We'll be a magical laughingstock, and I simply can't have that." Swain replied. "We have to fool these drunken idiots into thinking this is all part of the show."  
>Mordekaiser muttered something quietly about where Swain could put Noxus's reputation, then sighed a heavy, ringing sigh. "Very well...what is the plan?"<br>Swain glanced at his left shoulder and nodded. His raven seemed to slowly nod in return without so much as a blink of an eye, and Swain opened the door ever so slightly, the hinges creaking softly in protest. "Go." he ordered in a soft whisper.  
>The raven thrust his cruel beak into the doorway's gap, holding it open as Swain knelt down, tenderly picked up the bird, and placed it gently on the lobby floor. The Master Tactician watched as his pet forced its way through the door, pushing with its beak until it was able to hop to the other side of the doorway. The moment Swain's raven moved its head away from the heavy wooden door, however, it slammed shut with a bang.<br>Swain held his breath, and Mordekaiser had no need for such a mortal action. They both heard a croaking squawk from the other side of the door, and a flap of mighty wings. "I know you, Emilia..." Swain whispered to no one in particular. "I know you won't be fazed by this..."  
>"Ah, the raven, a symbol of death since the dawn of time!" LeBlanc could be heard to exclaim as the raven soared over her head. "Is this an unfortunate omen for our young, beautiful Lady Buvelle?"<br>Swain sighed with relief at LeBlanc's words. She had made it all part of the act now. Things may have just been made easier.

Despite her speech, LeBlanc was staring incredulously up at the raven, who stared back at her from its perch atop a hanging light._What are you still doing here, Jericho? Never mind. I, excuse me, the Prestigious LeBlanc, has a show to put on.  
><em>"Gravedigger, is Lady Buvelle's tomb prepared?" LeBlanc asked in a loud, clear voice.  
>"Yes, oh Prestigious LeBlanc." Yorick mumbled his reply, trying not to gag at his script.<br>Karthus finished his song as Yorick stepped back from the makeshift grave, and the Deathsinger solemnly turned to Sona, enjoying his role significantly more than poor Yorick. "It is time, my lady." he said in not much more than a whisper, offering Sona his hand.  
>The Maven of the Strings took Karthus's ghastly hand, and the two quietly walked to the open trapdoor together. Sona glanced down into the hole, curious as to what her so-called 'tomb' looked like. It was a simple wooden coffin, though it looked like a few blankets had been laid out, along with a soft feather pillow. Yorick had certainly put effort into making her comfortable.<br>"Lie in the tomb," Karthus commanded, "And have no fear of death. The Prestigious LeBlanc will save thee." Sona nodded, but had to hide a smirk at the change in Karthus's now bitter tone. He clearly disliked the idea of anyone being saved from death. It may very well have physically pained the lich to say those words.  
>Sona plucked one of the ebony roses from her bouquet, and gave it to Karthus. She then stepped into the coffin, smoothing out her sky-blue hair as she carefully sat down and let her head fall back on the soft, fluffy pillow. It was rather funny how something designed for a corpse was capable of being so comfy. Sona looked up at Karthus, who was now leaning over the grave, holding up the coffin's lid.<br>"Now close your eyes, my lady, and open your arms to accept death's embrace..." Karthus said gently, before carefully closing the coffin's lid, and leaving Sona in the dark. He then laid his rose on the shut coffin's lid, then retreated as Yorick stepped forward to begin piling dirt on the casket.

Sona could hear the thud of dirt landing on the hollow wood of her coffin. Closing her eyes, she chose to just enjoy the softness of the warm blankets around her until LeBlanc got her out. This wasn't so bad when you knew there was a way out just around the corner.

"How will we know if something goes wrong?" Mordekaiser asked, still by the lobby's door.  
>"My bird will let us know." Swain said calmly. "At the raven's signal, we will enter, and get her out by any means possible. I don't care if you have to break that stage apart, just do it. You may be able to get away with dead musicians, but I don't think the rest of Valoran would be so pleased to hear of Lady Buvelle's demise. And I am not going to a concert to see a decaying woman perform, no matter how beautiful the music."<br>"Oh, like you Noxians have a problem with resurrection." Mordekaiser muttered. "I do believe Urgot and Si-"  
>"We are getting off the subject, Lord Mordekaiser!" Swain said quickly, waving a hand frantically to shut Mordekaiser up. "I won't be as merciful as earlier today if you go about spilling Noxian secrets!"<br>Mordekaiser remained silent. Now was not the time. "So if all goes well, we do nothing. But the second something goes wrong, we strike?"  
>"Precisely. Just go in and tear that stage-"<br>"You only need to explain _once_, fool." Mordekaiser growled. "Let's just wait for your signal."

The sound of soil hitting wood was no longer reaching Sona's ears. The coffin must have already been covered by a generous amount of dirt. It was growing warm inside the casket, and a little stuffy. Sona stayed calm, taking slow, deep breaths. Not much longer now. She couldn't even hear as LeBlanc was speaking, but it couldn't be that much longer... could it?

Yorick piled the last of the dirt on the coffin, and the stage's trapdoor was shut.  
>"A moment, please, for our brave volunteer, stepping willingly into the jaws of death!" LeBlanc exclaimed with a dramatic flourish of her staff.<br>Many of the audience members removed caps and bandanas from their heads as Karthus began to recite a short elegy from his songbook. The Deathsinger was rather enjoying the silence that accompanied his song, until he saw the ink on his page suddenly blot. A water droplet? Karthus looked up while singing, and a second droplet landed on his snow-white mask, resembling a tear falling from the mask's eye as it trickled down the porcelain's surface. It was not Karthus's tear, however, and he glanced up to see Olaf wiping his eyes with his beard up on the catwalk.  
>"Sorry!" the Berserker whispered down. Karthus scowled, but continued his requiem.<br>LeBlanc, meanwhile, was readying a spell, her staff glowing brightly. As Karthus held the last, somber note of his dirge, the Deceiver spoke again. "And now, the Prestigious LeBlanc shall use her powers of duplication to bring forth Lady Buvelle's tomb, and her within it!"  
>The staff flashed brightly with light, and a coffin identical to the one that had been buried materialized, to the audience's tumultuous applause. Yorick and Karthus walked over to both sides of the coffin, and opened the lid together as the audience gasped with anticipation.<br>In the silence, Yorick stared into the coffin. "She's not here." he said bluntly, which incited more feelings of terror in the theater's spectators.  
>"Not here?!" LeBlanc exclaimed, clearing her throat. Yorick and Karthus stared at her, and then each other. Was she nervous?! Either spontaneous stage fright struck, or something was not right. "Well!" LeBlanc waved her staff again. "Then I shall bring forth Lady Buvelle's tomb from the earth, and we shall pull her out of her despair!"<br>Karthus noted that LeBlanc had not bothered to speak in the third person this time. Now he KNEW something was wrong.  
>Another flash of light, and a second coffin appeared, this one with some dirt still sitting on the lid. Yorick and Karthus opened this lid, though not quite with the same synchronization to their movements. "This one is empty, too!" Karthus hissed.<br>"Oh, dear..." Yorick groaned. "Look closer, Deathsinger..."  
>Karthus and LeBlanc took a closer look at the coffin, and LeBlanc almost felt ill when she could clearly see the imprint of a young woman pressed into the blankets. This was the genuine tomb... minus one Maven of the Strings. Sona had not been transported, and was currently trapped in six feet of dirt.<br>A moment later, a raven's cry pierced the tense silence.

Sona felt the soft warmth of blankets suddenly yanked out from underneath her, and replaced with the cold dampness of freshly tilled earth. She opened her eyes, only to quickly shut them again when she felt tiny clumps of dirt threatening to fall into her exposed orbs. Sona then tried to move her hands, but a heavy weight kept them down. She couldn't move her limbs, open her eyes, and she certainly wasn't going to try and open her mouth.  
>Breathing through her nose didn't provide much for her, either, assuming dirt particles wouldn't fly up her nostrils if she tried. She was trapped, and her way out had vanished into thin air...or the lack of it. All she could do was keep her mouth tightly shut and hang in there for as long as she could...and pray her friends knew something had gone wrong.<p>

At the sound of the raven, Swain exclaimed, "NOW!", and threw the door open with his cane.  
>Mordekaiser required no further commands. He was dashing down the aisle, morningstar in hand, ignoring the screams of the terrified audience. It was bad enough that Sona was apparently trapped six feet under now, but now Mordekaiser was here in the theater!? This was too much for most of the show's patrons, except for one pirate who yelled, "Rock on, Pentakill!" It was obviously a local who had been to the concert last night and recognized LeBlanc's new staff, and his cheer brought a few others out of their blind panic, and they too began to applaud Mordekaiser's arrival, as well as Olaf's, as the Berserker had dashed down from the catwalk to assist.<br>"Where is she!?" Swain demanded as his raven soared down from the lights to land on his shoulder.  
>"In there." Yorick answered, pointing to the sealed trapdoor.<br>"Grab your shovel, Gravedigger, and all of you step back. Mordekaiser, get in there!"  
>Mordekaiser's crimson eyes glowed fiercely under his helmet, and his morningstar seemed to spark with new life as he lifted the weapon over his head and swung down with all his might. The sound of splintering and breaking wood echoed through the theater as the trapdoor was not only torn off of its hinges, but snapped in two, a few planks around the door being damaged as well. Swain and LeBlanc quickly removed the two halves of the useless door, as Yorick began to frantically dig with his spade, with Olaf assisting with his bare hands. There wasn't much time left before Sona would likely succumb to the lack of air around her.<p>

Sona was now trying her hardest to stay calm, but her mind was in a panic. This was it. She was going to die, no questions asked. Her vision was going black, and she felt dizzy and faint. She thought she felt low, heavy vibrations in the dirt around her, as if heavy footsteps were running towards her location. Perhaps she was having flashbacks of the Rift, and a larger champion was charging towards her. She didn't even know at this point.  
>As she drifted into unconsciousness, she felt the weight around her lifting. Her body was giving up. She then heard what sounded like a raven screaming. Or was it a crow? Fiddlesticks? No, there was only one bird, she was sure. Not enough for Fiddles.<br>"I...red!...Get her!"  
>What?<br>Light suddenly flooded into Sona's vision, and she was forced to shut her eyes even tighter as air poured into her lungs, revitalizing her. Shaking off her dizziness, she felt clammy but powerful hands lift her out of the dirt. It had to be Yorick. Sona, exhausted as she was, smiled. This was why she put up with the members of Pentakill, paying for their rooms, and dealing with their eccentricities.  
>As she often did for them, her friends had come through for her.<p>

Yorick kept Sona in an upright position in his arms as she violently (but soundlessly) coughed. The rest of Pentakill had gathered around to make sure their keyboardist was still in one piece, as Swain ushered the audience away. "Go on, get out of here, show's over! It's not like any of you pirates paid to get in anyway!"  
>A combination of disappointed grumbles and relieved cheers could be heard as the citizens of Bilgewater filed out, discussing the chaos they had just witnessed.<br>Swain nodded in satisfaction as the last of the pirates departed, before whirling on LeBlanc. "Emilia, what the hell were you thinking!? You could have very easily gotten Lady Buvelle killed! If I wasn't here..."  
>While Swain continued his furious rant, the band members were just happy to have Sona back, dead or alive. Neither would have been an issue for them, but they weren't sure how all right with undeath Sona herself would have been. "I suppose the show's over..." Yorick chuckled.<br>"Yep, guess so." Olaf nodded. "Hey, show's over? What about our ad?"  
>"That's right!" Karthus glanced over at LeBlanc. "Er, I hate to interrupt you, General Swain, but we had a deal with your illusionist friend here."<br>"Oh, yes, yes, your advertisement." LeBlanc muttered. "The Prestigious LeBlanc would normally say you metal hooligans ruined her show, but, ahem...given the circumstances," she continued under the wrathful eye of Swain, "I shall perform the duplication spell. Where is the document?"  
>Karthus wordlessly pulled the advertisement out of its place in his songbook, and in a flash of light, he was no longer holding one paper, but fifty.<br>"Thank you for your business, Deciever." Mordekaiser said with only the smallest hint of an angry snarl as the band walked towards the lobby and the theater's exit. "Now if you will kindly excuse us, we have Pentakill business to attend to!"

**Had to repost this one a few times to get the format right. I think I'll stick with the format I had in previous chapters, so that I can divide perspectives successfully, which was used to the fullest in this chapter! I never intended for the simple act of getting their ad to be so chaotic, but I'm starting to think it was worth it; This chapter was a blast to write!**


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